


Like a Skippin' Stone

by Ranua



Series: A Touch of Free [1]
Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Big Bang Challenge, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranua/pseuds/Ranua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>17 year old Christian Kane is hitch-hiking across America to escape a future he doesn't want. 16 year old Steve Carlson is on the run from a past he'd rather not think about. When Christian saves Steve from a mugging it's the start of something neither of them knew they were looking for. Sometimes, home is where you find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Skippin' Stone

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote [Listen Close Child](http://ranua.livejournal.com/124495.html#cutid1) based on the Zac Brown Band song 'Free'. I had the idea of how that Chris and Steve met floating around in my head and the Big Bang provided the impetuous to get it out. In my head it's set in the same universe as Supernatural and I've even got a time line worked out. It was a lot of fun to write to a deadline and word-count, stress and all. Huge thanks to my beta [kadams27](http://kadams27.livejournal.com/) without whom this would be a mess of verbs out of tense and bad grammar. And to my artist [weaselett](http://weaselett.livejournal.com/) who produced some fabulous art, check it out [here](http://themulberrybush.livejournal.com/8271.html)

He'd left Maryanne at the gypsy camp weeks ago, leaving as soon as it was warm enough to go. They'd been really kind, welcoming them both so easily. He knew that they were beyond lucky to have found a place to stay, winter wasn't a season to be out on the streets, not even a California winter.

Maryanne had fit in perfectly with the wild and colorful people and he felt no remorse at leaving her there. Even though they'd snuck out of the orphanage together, he'd known it wasn't a friendship that was destined to last.

He wasn't really sure why Maryanne had chosen to be friendly with him in the first place, they were so vastly different. She was out-going and bright, he was withdrawn and dull. She had a story to tell for every occasion, he rarely spoke even when spoken too. But they'd become friends and when she hatched a plot to run away he'd been swept along in her wake; swept out of his self-imposed isolation by her assumption that he'd go along with her.

They'd run away from the orphanage without much of a plan; ending up working the orchards with other itinerants. There was a group of kids around their age amongst the workers that they'd fallen in with who'd befriended Maryanne and by extension him. When the season was over and Maryanne's new friends had found out they had nowhere to go, they had invited them to winter at their families semi-permanent camp.

It had been a nearly overwhelming whirl-wind of people and sound for Steve. He'd stayed quiet and listened and learned. They'd asked him if he played the violin he carried and he had very carefully done so for them, making sure not to let any bit of the strangeness that lived deep inside him out in the music as was it's want.

The times when the press of strangers curiosity got to be overwhelming he'd snuck out at night and played like a man possessed, letting his grief and loneliness pour out through his music. An older woman had taken him aside after the second time and asked him to not play such sad music, as it made the more sensitive children cry in their sleep, and told him if he needed help with the magic she was willing to tutor him. He'd stuttered and fumbled and swore that there was nothing he needed help with and vowed to himself not to let whatever this was out ever again.

When he'd left that spring he'd chosen to head east since that was the direction he could go furthest in. He'd made it to Flagstaff when his luck ran out.

He'd been fiddling on a corner for change, always so careful not to use any touch of the strangeness within him to compel people, when he’d been made to ‘pack it up and move it along now’ by some officer trying to keep the streets clear for 'honest' folk.

At least the cop hadn’t taken him in. Although that might have been better, for the next thing he knew he was trapped in a dirty alley with a couple of thugs trying to steal his kit and the ‘move it along' cop had been nowhere in sight.

He'd been scared and tired and damn it, he’d only got a couple bucks in change and he was damned if he was gonna let some two bit thugs who wouldn’t know Wagner from Handel take his money or his stuff. He'd felt the strangeness inside him building alongside the anger. He'd tried to shove it back down, but a fist in the gut stole his breath and shattered his tenuous control. Breathless, he had dropped to his knees, the strangeness slipping it's bonds causing every bit of glass, broken or whole bottle, to swirl around him.

The two wannabe toughs had taken one look at the pieces flying around, and proving they did have some brains after all, they'd fled the scene. In a panic, Steve had tried to yank back his control, but it was no use, the power he'd tried to keep in careful check wouldn't be shoved back into it's box. He did managed to get a hand in front of his eyes, the other holding him up, as every piece of glass exploded with him at the epicenter. As he passed out from pain and shock he'd heard someone shout, ‘Holy Fuck!’

&&&&

Christian watched as some little self-important Barney Fife rousted the kid with the violin from the corner. It was too bad, the music was pretty good, he didn’t recognize it, but he enjoyed it. Looked like other people had too, if the flash of coins dropping into the open case he’d seen from across the street was any indication.

Thinking to charm the kid into teaming up with him and his guitar to see if they could make even more money, he set off to catch up with the blonde. Traffic was not with him though and he’d almost lost the kid in the press of bodies on the sidewalk by the time he’d gotten across the street. Catching a glimpse of blonde hair and backpack turn down an alley he jogged and dodged to catch up.

Turning the corner he saw two dirty punks harassing the blonde, but before he could say anything one of them landed what looked like a nasty shot in the kid’s gut, doubling him over and dropping him to the ground. As the kid’s knees hit the pavement he could only stare speechless as every bit of glass in the alley flew up to swirl around the blonde.

The two punks took off running, shoving past him in their rush to get away. From his vantage point at the mouth of the alley he saw every bit of color leach from the kids face. The glass fragments swirled to a halt, hanging suspended in the air for long moments until they suddenly burst, the kid at the center of a storm of shards.

‘Holy Fuck!’ he shouted in shock. The kid turned to the sound of his voice, and Christian could see blood streaming down his arms and face before he crumpled to the ground in a dead faint.

The sight of the boy collapsing shakes Christian out of his surprise and getting his feet moving he hurries to the blondes side. Dropping to his knees he reaches for the blondes shoulder to roll him over in order to get a better look. As his hand touches the bare skin of the blondes upper arm he's hit with a powerful vision. He’s sitting in Grand-mere’s parlor holding hands with a bashful young man with blonde hair and a fine spider web of silver lines across his tanned face. It barely lasts a moment but it hits as powerfully as only true sights of the future hit him.

The rise and fall of his chest prove the kid is still alive so Christian gently rolls him onto his back in order to assess the damage to his arms and face. There’s blood everywhere and it looks like some of the cuts are deep enough and long enough to need stitches. ‘C'mon Steve’ the name comes to him like he’s always known it, ‘wake up. We gotta get you to a hospital.’

Pale blue eyes flutter open in the mask of blood. ‘No,’ the boy mumbles at him, ‘no hospital. Can’t go.’ out of sheer stubbornness the kid manages to half sit up, pale and sweating with exertion. The protest takes all that is left in the blonde however and his eyes drift closed again as he sags back to the ground.

‘Well, buddy, we gotta do something. You’re bleeding all over the place.’ he tries to keep his tone light and reassuring.

Christian manhandles Steve to a sitting position against the wall of the alley to get a better look, but the blonde kind of droops there, totally drained and barely responsive.

'Well, son,' he says, pushing blood soaked hair off Steve's face, 'looks like your eyes are fine, but some of this looks pretty bad.' He uses the hem of Steve's already blood-stained, over-large tee-shirt to clean up as much blood as he can off the other boys face.

Checking one arm, then the other, Christian is pleased to see no serious cuts. He's sure a few could use stitches, but the other boy isn't going to bleed out. 'C'mon Steve, let's get you up.'

Crouching at Steve's side, Christian gets a shoulder wedged in the blondes armpit in order to lever him up. 'Good thing you're so damn skinny buddy.'

As Christian works them to a standing position Steve becomes more alert and with weak struggles he tries to twist out of Christian's grip. Batting at the supportive hands his mumbling becomes more coherent. 'no, no, no, let go, not going with you'

Pitching his voice low and soothing like he would for his little sister if she were hurt, Christian tries to calm the other boy, 'Hey, hey, it's okay. Not taking you anywhere. We gotta get you cleaned up though.' He has no idea where that would be; with Steve's blood covered face and arms, they'll be drawing all the wrong kinds of attention where ever they go.

Either the words or the tone works as Steve calms down. He seems more coherent and aware as every moment passes as well, maneuvering under his own power and mostly steady on his feet. 'Yeah, sorry, yeah.'

Holding the blonde steady with one hand he scoops up the violin case that has been dropped in the scuffle, pressing it into Steve's arms. Hugging it to his body, Steve mumbles his thanks.

'Kin I help you get home or somewhere?' Christian asks, maneuvering them down the alley in the opposite direction to the one the punks had taken. Christian is sure the kid has nowhere to go; the backpack and slightly bedraggled appearance testify to that, but it's best to be sure he figures.

'Naw, just got to town this morning.' Steve spoke soft and haltingly, Christian couldn't tell if it was due to the cuts on his face or he always talked like that. 'Was just trying to get a couple bucks for food.'

They come out of the alley the opposite end to where they went in. His Me-maw taught him to believe in signs from another power and damned if kitty corner from the mouth of the alley isn't a Saint Michael's Catholic church. Same as Grand-mere has been going to every Sunday she's been alive.

'C'mon, we're going over here.' He gets them directed across the street, he'd be a fool not to when all the signs are so obvious that this place is where they're meant to go.

'This is where you live?' Steve is confused to be headed toward a church.

'No, but it looks like the one back home and who am I to argue. Besides, bet we can get you cleaned up at the parish house spigot.' he encourages the blonde.

Careful of observers, Christian gets them around to the back of the church and sure enough, there on the side of the parsons house is a hose. 'Knew it!' he crows at the sight of the hoped for spigot. Now to get his new friend cleaned up.

'You got a towel or anything in there?' he asks, gesturing to the other boy's back pack. He's got a towel in his bag, but new friend or not he doesn't want to sacrifice it to clean up blood. That never comes out.

'Uh, yeah.' Steve struggles with his backpack, grateful the thugs hadn't managed to pull it off him during the attack. Christian gives him a hand when it becomes obvious Steve's arms pain him too much to twist out of the backpack's straps.

'Here, c'mon, sit down.' Christian directs him down on the concrete steps. He rummages in the other boys bag past a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans till his fingers close on the scratchy roughness of terrycloth.

Steve's just sitting there, staring into nothing, blood sliding down his face and Christian gets an eerie feeling that he's sitting with an empty body - one that the soul has flown away from.

'Hey,' he nudges Steve's knee, startling the other boy and with that the eerie feeling fades as animation returns to the blondes face. Trying to engage the boy so that he stays in the here and now he thrusts out his hand, 'I'm Christian'

'Oh, ah, yeah, I'm Steve.' he returns the grip that Christian offers.

'And I'm Father Morgan,' comes a voice from the doorway above them, startling the boys into standing, Steve nearly falling over. 'So, now that we all know one anothers name, why are you boys bleeding on my back steps?'

The priest from inside the parish house is a tall and imposing figure with the build of a boxer and hair that's gone salt and pepper. He's wearing jeans with his black shirt and clerical collar, but is none the less imposing for it. And he's wearing a look that says, 'Just you dare try some sort of nonsense.'

Pasting on his best sincere face, the one he uses with Grand-mere to get out of trouble, Christian starts talking. 'We got jumped sir. They hit Steve here in the face with a bottle and I was trying to get him cleaned up fore we went home.'

Running a skeptical eye over the two he takes in their appearance; they can't be much more than 17 or 18 years old and as different as night and day. Neither is very tall, but the brunette is stocky and tanned where the blonde is almost too thin and winter pale. The only thing they have in common is the longer hair boys these days have taken to sporting. Taking in the slightly tattered backpacks and instrument cases, worn clothes and the wary look in the eyes of the blonde, he comes to the conclusion that 'home' is a long way off.

It's obvious the brunette is spinning him a story, but the other boy does look pretty badly hurt: it's taking a chance he knows, but he can't let them wander off if it's within his power to help. 'Come on in then, you can do a better job cleaning up your friend in my kitchen than on my back step.'

'Thank you sir' the brunette says, genuine gratitude coloring his words, the blonde mumbling his thanks as well.

He gets the boys situated at his little kitchen table, setting a bowl of warm water and some old rags by Christian to clean Steve's face off. Rummaging under his sink he pulls out an old first aid kit, hoping there's enough supplies in it to take care of the boy.

Some of the cuts on the young blonde are pretty deep, especially across his cheeks and on his left forearm so Father Morgan does the best he can with what he's got, wrapping the boy's arm in gauze and placing butterfly bandages on the worst of the cuts on his face.

Steve's fading in and out - he doesn't mean to, he knows he should stay alert so he can leave as soon as possible, but the drain he feels from the glass exploding and the pain and shock from the cuts have left him exhausted. He finds himself dozing as the priest bandages his injuries, jerking awake at the sound of Father Morgan's voice.

'You really need stitches young man,' the Father says holding up a hand to forestall any objections, 'I've heard every excuse you could come up with. I know I won't get you to a hospital.' Wiping his hands on a towel he stands. 'I've done what I can, but some of those are deep cuts and I'm pretty sure you're gonna scar.'

Father Morgan knows they're street kids, he's seen enough of them to know 'em when he sees 'em. The damage to the blonde kid's face didn't come from a bottle; probably got shoved through a window. Those cuts need looking after though and if the boy isn't going to go to a hospital he'll just have to keep them both here.

'Look,' the priest says, a plan forming as he speaks, 'I need help re-painting the parish house,' and he does, but not for months yet, 'and you' he says pointing at Steve, 'need to keep those cuts clean and bandaged if you want them to heal properly.'

Father Morgan sees that the blonde, Steve, is instantly wary, but the brunette seems willing to at least listen. Hopefully he can get Christian to see reason and Steve will follow his lead.

'I propose a deal,' he continues, 'You boys stay here and give me a hand around the grounds in return for a place to stay while Steve heals up.' At the blondes skeptical look he continues, 'At the very least, you boys should stay here tonight, it's safe and Steve looks about dead on his feet.'

Christian is thrilled that the priest is offering them a place to stay. He knows the offer is mostly for Steve's benefit, but he'll take it as the longer he's around the blonde the more he wants to be. 'That would be incredibly kind of you, sir,' he says, throwing on the good manners - it can't hurt.

If Steve were more awake he's not sure he'd want to stay even one night. The only priests he's ever known were at the orphanage, and that hadn't been a very positive experience. But he's so tired and the cuts on his arms and face are really starting to hurt, making it hard to think.

For some reason he trusts this Christian, feels some sort of connection to him and Christian seems to trust the priest, so he figures one night will be okay. At least it'll be easier than trying to find a place to hole up while he's wiped out and injured. Feeling like he has nothing to lose, he adds his own quiet agreement.

Father Morgan convinces Steve to lay down on the couch to rest, he obviously needs it. Father has seen his eyes drooping while he bandaged him up and he's nearly asleep before he can get properly settled on the couch. Getting his shoes off and a blanket over him to help ward off the shivers that he can feel building deep in his middle is all that Steve manages before falling asleep.

Father Morgan corners Christian in the kitchen. 'Alright, I'm not dumb son, I know you boys are living on the streets and I know neither of you are from around here. What's going on?'

Christian runs a hand through his hair, 'Truthfully?' he asks, mind racing over what he should or shouldn't say.

Father Morgan gives him a hard look, 'Yes son, the truth would be nice.'

Deciding on the bare facts, Christian blows out a breath, 'There's nothing going on sir, I saw Steve get jumped in the alley and couldn't just let them punks beat him up.'

Father Morgan snorts, 'So, why'd you bring him here?'

'Just luck really,' he explains, 'we came outta the alley across the way,' he says, waving a hand to point, 'and there was the church. I figured there'd be water to clean him up. We didn't have anywhere else to go, sir.'

'Well, it does look as though God was looking out for you boys. Now, I really do need some help in the yard and you look like you know a rake from a spade.' Father Morgan is all brisk business.

Helping the Father in the yard reminds Christian of home and he says as much, 'Figured I'd be done with garden work by now,' he complains.

Father Morgan makes a non-committal noise in the hopes of drawing out more of the boy's story.

'Me-maw would have me digging and weeding sun-up to sun-down. I don't miss the work, but I do miss her and Grand-mere both.' The last words come out wistful.

'If you miss your family, why did you run away?' The priest asks.

'Oh, I didn't run away,' Christian answers with a grin. 'I wanted to see the world before getting tied down to one place. Grand-mere says I got my itchy feet from my daddy and Me-maw blames my mama. I figure wherever they came from I don't wanna be stuck in some little town all my life.'

The yard work is finished to Christian telling Father Morgan of the small towns and larger cities he's seen since leaving his grandmothers months earlier.

They don't wake Steve for their simple dinner, Father Morgan saying if he's still asleep then he obviously needs it. After helping to clean up the already tidy kitchen Christian asks the priest if he can use the phone for a quick call to let his grandmothers know he's alright.

Christian feels an unexpected relief at the sound of his Grand-mere's voice. He can picture his grandmothers, standing close in the kitchen, heads tilted together over the phone so they both can hear him. He didn't realize how much he wished they were the ones taking care of he and Steve till this moment.

He makes sure to keep the conversation quick, it's not his phone bill after all. He tells them the bare bones of what has happened, glossing over the how of meeting Steve, just that he did, and meeting Father Morgan at St. Michael's and how they're staying at the parish house for a night or two.

Just before he hangs up Me-maw says she's looking forward to meeting Steve when they come home in October and remember, sandalwood or mint will help the scars on his arms to fade faster. He hangs up the phone bemused, it always leaves him feeling a little baffled when Me-maw makes pronouncements like that.

Feeling much more centered and buoyed by even a quick talk with his grandmothers Christian settles in for the evening with a lighter heart. He makes a pallet on the floor next to the couch where Steve is still asleep and picking a random book from Father Morgans shelves reads till he dozes off.

&&&&

Father Morgan's chipper whistling wakes the boys the next morning and the smell of eggs and coffee draws them to the kitchen.

'Good morning,' he greets them with a smile. 'Eat up, there's plenty of food and you'll need it for all the scraping and painting we're getting done today.' The priest's whistling changes to humming as he gets the boys settled at the small table with plates of food. Christian settles in with some enthusiasm while Steve is quiet and subdued.

Humming abruptly stopping Father Morgan turns to Steve asking, 'Can you sew son?'

It seems an innocuous question, but Steve answers warily, 'Yes, sir, why?'

'I've got some mending that needs to be done and you certainly can't be standing out in the sun on a ladder with your injuries.' Father replies. 'Idle hands are the devils playground after all,' he adds with a bit of a grin.

Steve is still feeling shaky, not to mention in pain from the myriad of cuts on his face and arms, but that doesn't change the fact he doesn't think he should be staying. 'I'm very grateful for the hospitality and I'll never be able to repay your kindness,' he tells Father Morgan, 'but I can't stay.'

Christian laughs at him and says, 'Have you seen yourself in the mirror? You wouldn't make it two blocks. Why don't you stay? Rest up at least for today.'

Steve bristles, but he does feel poorly and Christian pointing out that it's obvious to anyone who looks at him that he's not well works as a good excuse to do what his body wants and rest. He also likes being around Christian; he's not sure how that's happened, after all he's only known the other boy for less than 24 hours.

Steve ends up sitting in the shade on the side of the house with a pile of mending - Father Morgan wasn't kidding about putting him to work - as Christian and the Father scrape paint from the siding.

Christian talks up a storm, answering the Father's questions with no hesitations.

He tells about growing up in Oklahoma with his little sister in a house shared by his half-Cherokee Me-maw and his French-Creole Grand-mere because his mama went off to the oil fields with his daddy.

The things he learned at their knee, cooking from Grand-mere and wood craft from Me-maw. Spending days looking after his sister and learning how to run a household, his grandmothers saying man or woman it didn't matter the things a body needed to learn. How they supported him even when he decided he was done with school and wanted to see the country.

Father Morgan is amused by the mile a minute story telling Christian does. He can tell a lot of it isn't even really meant for him, the boy is trying to impress his new friend. For every bit of information Christian shares, he asks a question of Steve. Mostly he gets shrugs and head shakes with vague answers given in a soft halting voice as though the blonde is not used to talking, but that doesn't stop Christian from trying.

Christian's questioning does give them a few answers. Steve grew up in California. He started violin lessons at the tender age of 5. He and a friend named Maryanne spent the winter with a gypsy clan and he set off to see the rest of the country as soon as it was warm enough during the day.

Mid-afternoon they break for lunch. They share sandwiches in the shade of the house, Steve falling asleep before he's done eating. Christian watches Steve doze off with a worried furrow between his brows, 'Is that normal?' Christian asks Father Morgan, nodding toward Steve who appears to have dozed off with half a sandwich still in his hand.

'It's to be expected,' Father replies. 'He's suffered a trauma and sleep is the body's way of dealing with it. He'll most likely feel extra tired for a couple of days.'

Christian privately thinks that what happened with the glass in the alley has taken a lot out of the blonde too, and he needs the rest because of that as well. He really wants to ask Steve about it, but the boy's been so closed mouthed about the rest of his life that Christian is pretty sure he's gonna have a long wait to get his curiosity satisfied on that score.

Father Morgan is amused by Christian constantly checking on Steve as they continue to work at scraping the old paint off the siding. It slows down the work, but he's in no hurry to have it finished; the longer it takes to scrap and paint the house the longer the boys will stay, giving Steve a chance to heal.

As the afternoon wears toward evening Father calls a halt to the days work. 'Go wake up Steve and you boys clean up out here while I make our evening meal.'

Christian readily agrees, standing out in the sun and heat all day has worked up an appetite and it has been a long time since lunch. He just gets a hand on Steve's shoulder to give him a gentle shake awake when the other boy nearly startles out of his skin. 'Sorry, sorry,' Christian soothes. 'Help me clean up out here?' he asks softly, 'Father said he'll feed us again,' he adds with a grin.

'Yeah, okay,' Steve agrees just as softly, wincing at the pull on his injuries as he rubs sleep from his face.

They get the ladder and various tools and tarps back in the shed. Christian rinses the sweat and paint chips from his neck and arms at the hose while Steve packs away the mending he'd been working on before falling asleep.

As they reach the entry, Steve hesitates, unease on his face. 'I really should be leaving,' he says in his quiet voice, 'thank you so much for the help and food, but I can't stay.'

'Nonsense,' Father Morgan says at the same time Christian blurts out 'You can't leave.'

Brisk and practical Father Morgan continues, 'It's getting late, your injuries are still hurting you and you could use a safe place to sleep and more decent meals before you leave.'

'Yeah,' Christian nods agreement, 'you need more looking after, some of yer cuts are still bleeding.' he points out and they are, blood seeping through the bandages on the worst of the cuts on his arms and face.

'At least let me change the bandages and check the cuts,' Father Morgan says, seeing the hesitation on the younger boys face.

'And stay for supper,' Christian pipes up, he's pretty sure the younger boy will be out like a light shortly after eating. He doesn't know why it's so important that the blonde stays, it just is. It's like there's something about the other boy right there on the edge of his sight.

Steve is torn, he doesn't think he should stay, he doesn't know these people, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go. It's easy to let Christian and Father Morgan talk him into staying and to his chagrin he finds his eye lids drooping while he eats.

In a repeat of the night before, Steve sleeps on the couch with Christian camped out on the floor. He'd tried to offer the brunette the couch but he insisted that as the injured one Steve should have the more comfortable place to sleep.

In the wee hours of the night Steve begins whimpering and thrashing, obviously caught in the throes of a nightmare. The sounds wake Christian who gives Steve a gentle nudge to wake him, remembering how the blonde had started at his touch earlier. It seems to take forever before the whimpering stops. Steve doesn't wake, but he does roll over and settle back into a restful sleep.

The next few days fall into a pattern, Father Morgan and Christian scraping and prepping for painting while Steve does mending or dozes in the shade. All the while Christian talks and asks questions of both Steve and Father Morgan.

Father Morgan gains enough clues from the answers that Steve does give to deduce that Steve is an orphan, most likely from a young age, and has been out of the orphanage for only a short time.

For his part, Steve gets used to Christian always talking and touching him, invading his space to check his bandages, bumping shoulders in a companionable way. It reminds him of Maryanne and how she wouldn't let him retreat into his own head; always talking to him and asking questions. It lulls him into opening up a little more every day and he finds he likes the way the other boy's face lights up when he shares stories about his life.

&&&&

It's a quiet evening nearly a week into their settled routine. Father Morgan is out 'tending his flock' as he refers to the rounds he makes of little old ladies and shut-ins every couple of days. They're sitting in companionable silence in the kitchen; Christian quietly strumming his guitar as he watches Steve wax his violin.

Steve is still spending a lot of time sleeping or staring blankly into space just like he had that first day on the parish house back steps. It creeps Christian out a little how it looks like Steve's soul has left his body and he figures it has to do with whatever Steve did in the alley. He's terribly curious and figures that now is as good a time as any to ask about it. Screwing up his courage he does just that.

'Hey Steve,' he calls gently, getting the blondes attention.

'Hmm,' is the distracted response from Steve.

'You remember that day in the alley?' Christian asks.

The blonde snorts, 'How could I forget with the souvenirs I got.'

'Yeah, bout that, how'd you get all that glass to fly around anyway?' Christian tries for a casual tone hoping if he sounds matter of fact enough the blonde will open up more.

Steve gives him a blank look, 'What do you mean?'

Christian gestures to the bandages still covering Steve's arm and cheeks, 'Man, the glass that cut you up. You had it floating round and scared those guys off; then it was like it got outta your control and exploded everywhere.'

'I really don't know what you're talking about,' Steve states, his blank look never changing. 'I'm tired,' he continues, laying his violin carefully in its case and retreating to the couch in the living room. He doesn't speak to either Christian or Father Morgan again that night.

&&&&

Steve's getting a little worried; it's getting harder to keep the strangeness inside him down where it belongs. Ever since what happened in the alley he can feel it pushing and pushing at the front of his mind and keeping it from slipping out is proving tiring. Between that and the slow healing cuts he's so tired he dozes off at the slightest opportunity.

Christian is getting worried about the amount of time Steve spends sleeping, he can tell it's starting to worry Father Morgan as well. The nightmares that have been occurring several times a night seem to have worked their way into Steve's day time naps and Christian and Father Morgan have shared more than one concerned look over Steve making distressed sounds in his sleep in the shade on the side of the house. They've both asked him about it, but Steve doesn't remember having any dreams at all.

It's a quiet afternoon, clouds have moved in and a light, un-forcasted rain is falling, making them unable to work on the outside of the parish house. Father Morgan had taken the opportunity to visit a sick parishioner and Steve had fallen asleep on the couch. He was still sleeping way too much and Christian and Father Morgan have decided behind Steve's back that a hospital visit might very well be in order.

Christian is playing solitaire at the kitchen table with a well-worn deck of cards when he hears the now distinctive sounds of Steve in the throes of a nightmare. The distressed whimpers and moans tear at his heart. He wishes that there was more that he could do for his friend than try to coax him to a more restful sleep. The crash of glass from the front room has him covering the distance from the kitchen to the living room in bounding steps.

The sight of Steve still asleep on the couch with dozens of pieces of glass from a broken lamp and a scattering of knickknacks floating in the air above him greets Christian. Stunned, the brunette is glued to the spot. He'd started to doubt that Steve was the cause of what he'd seen in the alley . . . but not now.

Shaking off the shock, Christian shouts Steve's name, but the younger boy doesn't stir. Even after several repetitions of the blondes name there is no response. Christian is trying not to panic, but he doesn't know what to do. He wishes his grandmothers were here, they'd know what to do.

He ends up sitting on the floor by the kitchen doorway for almost an hour, watching random bits of stuff float around the blonde. None of it does any damage, but every time he approaches the couch a piece of debris flies at him, sending him jumping back.

Bits of glass and knickknacks are still swirling through the air when Father Morgan arrives back home. 'What in Gods name!' he shouts.

'I don't know' Christian cries, distraught, 'I can't get Steve to wake up.' He's very freaked out and so glad that there is an adult here to handle the situation, even better that it's a priest.

Father is no stranger to the supernatural side of life so pulling out his bible and rosary he begins to pray the exorcism. Demonic influences would certainly explain the continued exhaustion the young man has been fighting and the fact that the cuts on his arms and face are no more healed now than when they happened. It could be his soul is fatigued from fighting off whatever malignant influence is trying to take over his body.

The exorcism does nothing however. Father is not a stupid, nor bigoted man so his next assumption is the boy must have some sort of latent magic of his own. That would explain the fatigue and lack of healing just as well as demonic influence, and is much easier to deal with in his opinion. Braving the flying debris, he vigorously shakes Steve awake and as the blonde opens hazy eyes all the airborne detritus drops to the carpet.

'Wha . . . what's going on?' Steve stammers out; his head is pounding and there are pieces of glass and knickknacks covering him and the floor around the couch.

'You were having a nightmare son,' Father Morgan replies in a soothing tone. 'You gave Christian quite the scare too, what with all the bits flying through the air.'

Realization of what has happened hits Steve like a brick. Panic floods his body as he fights the firm grip the Father has on his shoulder, trying to escape. A litany of apologies fall from his lips, words running together in fear, 'I'm so sorry, I'll go, please, I'm sorry, please, let me up I'll leave.'

'No Steve! It's okay!' Christian is at his friends side in an instant, his own fear and panic lost in the face of his friends distress, 'you ain't gotta go. You're safe here.'

'He's right Steve,' Father Morgan releases Steve's shoulder with a reassuring pat, sure that with Christian right there Steve wasn't going anywhere. 'You're safe here, there's no need for you to go anywhere. And I accept your apology, but only for not telling me it was possible you might commit horrible acts against some truly atrocious gifts from parishioners.'

As Christian barks out a laugh at the Father's lame joke, Steve only looks on in confusion, but the panic and fear have lessened just as Morgan hoped.

His bafflement plain to see, Steve asks even quieter than usual, 'Bu . . . but isn't it evil?'

'There's nothing evil in Gods gifts son,' Father Morgan reassures the blonde. ‘I thought maybe the devil was at play when I walked in the door but I tried to exorcise you and nothing happened Steve. God makes everything so God must have given you the magic for a reason. It’s a gift Steve so you must learn to control it, you have a responsibility to do that’

Steve looks at Christian for confirmation of the priests words, 'He did an exorcism on me?' he asks.

With a little grin Christian nods, 'Yep, I was right here for it too. Ya got the whole nine yards, Latin and everything. Yer not possessed Stevie, it's okay.'

'Hasn't anyone ever talked to you about this before?' The boy is well past puberty and that is when this sort of thing usually manifests Morgan knows. He'd be very surprised if this was the first time Steve's magic had gotten out of control.

Still rattled, but composure returning, Steve answers carefully, regardless of the kindness of this particular priest he knows not to admit to anything supernatural to an authority figure in the Catholic Church; he learned that lesson well at the orphanage. 'I talked to one of the Gypsies at the camp,' he answers and that's not even really a lie, but he knows it's not what the Father meant.

'Good, that's good,' Father Morgan may not have any issue with magic, provided it wasn't used in the commission of evil, but he had no knowledge of its workings. If the boy had spoken with someone at a Gypsy camp then the odds were good that he'd received sound advice.

'Now then,' Father Morgan straightens, surveying the mess of the living room, 'if you boys would be so kind as to put this mess back to rights, I'll prepare our dinner.'

'You sure yer okay?' Christian gives Steve's shoulder a gentle squeeze, trying to convey his caring. He can tell his friend is still freaked out by what happened. It's a bit selfish, he knows, but it's nice to have it confirmed that he hadn't imagined the glass flying round in the alley that day.

'Yeah, I'm alright. Got a headache though,' Steve answers. He's amazed that Christian is still talking to him, let alone touching him. He's never had anyone not freak out when they found out what sort of things happened around him.

'I'm not surprised, keeping that much stuff up in the air for so long musta took a lot outta ya.' Christian can't keep the admiration out of his voice. He's got a touch of the sight, but he only gets the occasional vision and a warning twinge deep in his belly when things are going to go wrong. It's nothing like what he's seen Steve do.

'Why don't you stay on the couch and I'll get all this cleaned up.'

&&&&

After the episode on the couch, Steve start to improve. The cuts close up finally, like they were waiting on the breakdown to do so. He stops falling asleep at every opportunity and the nightmares he still doesn't remember having stop completely. Steve becomes less wary around Christian and even Father Morgan too. Best of all, in Christian's opinion, is that with gentle coaxing Steve agrees to play with him.

It's the most fun Steve's had with his violin since mama and poppy died. It doesn't hurt that the type of music Christian plays is a far cry from the classical violin he was trained on. The rollicking bluegrass and mournful ballads don't remind Steve of anything. He plays some of the gypsy melodies he remembers hearing at the winter camp and is pleased when Christian is able to bend his guitar playing around the strains of music to create something new with him.

They've been with Father Morgan three weeks when Christian starts to feel the itch to go and he can tell Steve is even more restless now that he's pretty well healed. The morning after Christian and Father Morgan finish painting the outside of the parish house. Steve quietly packs up his stuff ready to leave, not really surprising Christian at all. He is pleased the other boy hasn't tried to leave sooner. He'd have hated to leave without finishing the painting he'd promised the Father.

'Let me grab my gear and we'll say good-bye to Father Morgan and we're off,' is all he says, ignoring the surprise on the blondes face.

Father Morgan isn't very happy about letting them leave, but there isn't anything he can do about it besides turning them into the authorities as run-a-ways. He isn't about to do that. He has talked to Christian's grandmothers a couple of times and is assured that the boy is a responsible young man who won't try to get into trouble. But he knows that trouble has a way of finding some people.

Mostly he is concerned about Steve and the power he seems to have that he is loath to talk about. He knows the kind of things that go bump in the night that would like to get their hands on a young man who was uneducated in the ways of the world and twist him to suit their purposes. His conversations with the grandmothers Kane had reassured him that Christian knew what was what in the supernatural department and that he would be able to protect the both of them from most things.

As added protection Father Morgan blessed all the boys belongings and gave them contact information on several of his brother priests and other individuals that could give them aid if needed. He even slipped a little cash into the folded up list of contacts he gave Christian. He was sad to see the boys go and knew he would miss them.

For all that they were ready to be on their way, they leave Father Morgan's a little reluctantly. Christian has enjoyed the priests company, it reminds him of home in a way and he decides to make it back to Oklahoma for the winter in order to see his sister and grandmothers and maybe even his folks if they're around; it was always nice to see mama and daddy.

Steve isn't sure how he feels about leaving Father Morgan's; he still isn't sure how he feels about having stayed there in the first place though. It was a bit like staying at the gypsy camp and a bit like staying at the orphanage. But meeting Christian has been good and he's pretty sure he can consider the other boy a real friend.

Christian is excited to be back on the road. He wants to see things, Route 66, the Four Corners, the Grand Canyon, although that might be in the wrong direction. He wants to see how the land and people change from one place to another. Steve doesn't seem to have any particular destination in mind and he readily acquiesces to Christian's suggestion of a direction.

So they travel; walking or hitching they make it to Route 66 and Steve can nearly see the power of belief that thrums over top of the road. He's wary of it at first, but there's nothing malignant in the sensation, rather a sense of expectancy and a happiness to be moving.

The first night they spend camped beside the road Christian talks Steve into playing for him. Steve's never played with such a huge power so close and it feels like he's playing a duet with the road itself. When the last notes fade he opens his eyes - surprised to find them closed - to see Christian sitting across from him with awe and wonderment shining on his face.

'That was amazing,' Christian breathes out. Steve ducks his head in embarrassment and doesn't speak for the rest of the night.

Christian is in awe of the power Steve plays with. He loves listening to the blonde regardless of what he plays but he's never heard him play with his power behind it before. And the music tonight was full of the sounds and images of life on Route 66; he's never experienced anything like it before in his life.

He finds it easy and enjoyable to travel with Steve, the blonde has no problems walking or hitching a ride. He doesn't look like it, but he seems happy enough to be traveling. They talk about all kinds of things and whilst Steve is still reserved and quiet, he starts opening up more about his past now that Christian has seen him play his music with the power behind it.

As they travel and share life-stories, Christian finds more and more things to like about Steve and his feelings start growing deeper. He can't help but remember the vision he had when he first touched Steve in the alley. He's never in his 17 years wanted to like someone as much as he likes Steve, but day by day every little thing he learns about the blonde makes him like him more. He's starting to realize his grandmothers were right, that someday he would meet someone who would nail his feet to the floor. Although, the way it seemed Steve had no intention of stopping his wandering, Christian was pretty sure he'd picked the right person to be willing to stop for.

They hitch hike and camp and play for money on street corners, but mostly they wander, going from one place to another with no real plan. By the time they hit the Texas border the cuts on Steve's arms have faded to faint lines. The cuts on his face however, don't fade. They seem to go straight from angry red lines to shiny silver marks. It makes Steve even more self-conscious and shy and he keeps his head ducked, hiding behind his hair and lets Christian do all of the talking now when they're around people.

During the course of their endless conversations Chris finds out that Steve's birthday is coming up and that since his parents died he hasn't had what Christian would call a proper birthday celebration. He wants to do something special for the other boy cos he can't imagine not having a big deal made of his birthday.

He manages to squirrel away a little bit of money from their street corner playing by stuffing the odd single or two to the bottom of his duffel. It's taken a few weeks but he ends up with what he hopes is enough for a cake and if they find a music store some rosin or strings for Steve's violin.

They're in Amarillo when August 6 rolls around. Steve doesn't say a word about what day it is and that actually makes Christian a little sad for his friend. It solidifies his desire to do something nice for the boy on this of all days. He's sure all the gods are smiling on him when during the course of trying to find the best spot for a little busking they pass not only a bakery but also a music store.

It's not easy to get away from Steve for the few minutes it'll take to get a cake and a present and he doesn't get the opportunity till late in the afternoon. They had a pretty good day busking in the business district over lunch and made enough money to do their laundry as well as pick up some non-perishables, so he leaves Steve with their meager pile of clothes at a laundromat saying he's going to get them something to eat.

'If you're going to a grocery I'd love oranges if you can find them for cheap.' Steve says.

'Of course, Stevie,' Christian smiles at the blonde, determined now to get oranges along with the cake and new strings. He sets off at a brisk pace, they're a number of blocks from where he saw the bakery and music store and he doesn't want to take so long that Steve worries.

He decides to get the strings first because Steve really needs them. He's been babying his violin for weeks now trying not to break a string. The music store is one of those high end shops that seem to only cater to those with more money than sense and sets Christian's teeth on edge from the moment he steps through the door.

The man behind the counter gives him a dismissive once over before asking in a condescending tone, 'Are you lost young man?'

'No, sir,' Christian replies - his grandmother's admonishment that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar uppermost in his mind - 'I'm looking for violin strings for a friend of mine.'

If it's possible the man looks even less impressed with Christian. 'Really, you do know they are not cheap.'

'Yes sir, I know. I need Obbligato if it's possible please.' The thought of Steve's smiling face when he sees the strings is the only thing that's keeping Christian's tone civil.

'Those are going to cost you $60,' the man tells him with disdain, obviously thinking he'll be unable to pay.

Christian takes out his billfold and carefully counts out the appropriate amount. 'Certainly sir, could you please wrap them up for me, I don't want them to get damaged before I can give them to him.'

With a certain amount of relish Christian watches the man's face sour as he puts up the package for him. 'Thank you very much sir,' Christian injects as much sincerity as he can manage into his voice, 'you have a good day.' As he leaves the store he mutters under his breath, 'dick-head.'

The strings cost him a bit more than he thought they would. He's only ever bought strings for his guitar, and then only at the store in town where everyone knew and respected his grandmothers. He hopes he has better luck at the bakery.

The bakery is a sharp contrast from the music store. It's warm and inviting, from the smells to the cheerful greeting from the plump, smiling man behind the counter. 'Good afternoon! How can I help you?'

'Do you sell cakes?' Christian asks.

'Certainly young man, what were you looking for?' the man's smile never wavers nor does he look at Christian like he'd be unable to pay for anything in the shop, unlike the music store clerk. It gives Christian an optimistic feeling.

'It's my best friends birthday and I need a cake.' he tells the clerk.

'We mostly do cakes to order, but I do have a selection here in the cold case.' He points to a long low case along the wall with a variety of cakes within, little cards bearing their flavors and prices in front of each.

Christian is dismayed at the prices, they're much higher than he thought birthday cakes would be, but then again, he has no experience with store-bought cakes as his Grand-mere made all the birthday cakes for him and his sister over the years. 'I don't suppose you have anything cheaper?' Christian asks knowing the probable answer.

'I'm sorry no, this is all we have,' the man says kindly.

Nothing is in the price range Christian set for himself. Food down the road is more important than a birthday cake now he knows, but it doesn't make it any easier. He really wanted to do this special thing for Steve. 'Thank you very much for your time,' he tells the clerk with honest sincerity in his voice.

Crestfallen, Christian turns away, heading out the door thinking maybe Twinkies would be an alright substitute for birthday cake when the clerk calls him back. 'Wait, I do have a cake the customer never picked up yesterday that I couldn't sell. It's an odd flavor though.'

'What flavor?' Chris asks, willing to go with almost anything if he can afford it, he wants Steve's birthday to be special so badly.

'Orange' the man tells him.

Christian laughs in delight, the man behind the counter smiling at the sound. 'That's his favorite!' he smiles at the clerk at the wonderful coincidence of it all.

The clerk's smile widens in response, 'Well, then, it's a good thing the lady never picked it up yesterday isn't it? Let me wrap it up for you and we'll see how much it'll come to.'

Christian has a cake in Steve's favorite flavor and new strings for his violin and it makes him feel like he's king of the world. The baker had only asked for a few dollars for the cake, way less than the prices on the cakes in the display. He'd said it didn't matter, he wouldn't be able to sell it since it was a custom order. With a light step he heads off to the diner he'd passed to splurge on burgers since he has money left over.

He's already been gone long enough for Steve to worry so he hurries along, juggling the bag of burgers and the cake box. He makes it back to the laundromat in time to see Steve folding their clothes with a worried frown twisting the scars on his face.

'Christian!' Steve exclaims, worry sharpening his tone and increasing its volume from its customary soft drawl, 'it's about time! I thought you got picked up by the cops or something.'

Rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment Christian mumbles 'Sorry man. Didn't mean to worry you, it just took longer than I thought to get food.'

'You just didn't want to do the laundry did you?' Steve's worry lessens in the face of Christian's obvious contrition. 'Well, c'mon then, I'm starving. What's in the box?'

'Happy birthday!' Christian grins, handing Steve the bakery box. The look of surprise on Steve's face worth more than the cake and strings combined.

'Wha?' Steve stumbles for words, nearly dropping the box. 'What's this?'

'It's a cake,' Christian says in a slow, teasing tone of voice, 'for your birthday.'

'I can see that, ya big girl,' Steve punches Christian lightly in the shoulder. 'You shouldn't have wasted the money man. I don't need a cake for my birthday.'

'Everyone should at least get a cake for their birthday,' Christian says firmly. No matter if they got presents or not, he and his sister always had a cake for their birthday. 'Besides, I got it for cheap since it was day old.' Christian shrugs a little in embarrassment.

'Thank you,' is Steve's quiet, sincere gratitude. It's been a long time since somebody did something so nice for his birthday. Not since momma and poppy died has any one cared enough to recognize his birthday in such a special way.

Reaching into his back pocket Christian pulls out the package of violin strings. 'I got these for you too.' He offers up the package, overcome with an uncharacteristic shyness.

Steve's left speechless and all he can do is blush and duck his head. The other boy has been so nice to him ever since they met. Christian saved him from the mugging in the alley, got him somewhere to clean the cuts from his out of control power, stayed with him in the strange place that was Father Morgan's and then wouldn't let him leave alone when Steve had been ready to set off again.

He's never had a friend like him before. Maryanne had been his friend, but more because she decided that's what they were than anything mutual. She steamrolled over anything he had to do or say to drag him along with her. He'd never had someone watch in awe as he played his music and offer to share in it. Never had someone touch him for no reason, smile at the things he said, want to know all about him and whom he wanted to know all about in return.

And now this; the cake and new violin strings. He is so happy he does the only thing he can think of to express it. He leans over and kisses Christian on the cheek. Pulling back, the blush staining his cheeks deepens and he can't bring himself to meet Christian's eyes.

Christian's expression softens in wonder as he cups his cheek where Steve's lips had brushed before breaking into a wide grin. Knowing his friend well enough to leave him alone in his blushing silence Christian turns back to his burger. He's so happy it tastes like the best meal his grandmothers have ever cooked.

The shy kiss sends Christian's hopes soaring. He's always been tactile with Steve, but now his touches linger and he spends as much time as he can inside Steve's personal space; bumping shoulders and hips when they walk, tangling their feet together when they sit. Only the heat of Texas summer nights keep him from cuddling up with Steve when they sleep.

Steve begins to reciprocate the touches and even to instigate some of his own. The hesitant advances are sweet and genuine. Steve is still quiet and solemn more often than not, but along with the increase in touches comes an increase in smiles, small and fleeting, but smiles none the less.

&&&&

They're in Richardson, Texas late on a quiet Saturday afternoon and out of money. They've been playing to bored housewives and random school children, but no one has dropped as much as a quarter in the open guitar case at their feet. Christian is thinking it's about time to call it quits for the day, camp out in the city park and head for Dallas come morning, when an affluent looking man strides purposefully their way. He doesn't look like a cop, but Christian gives Steve a nudge anyway, letting him know they may have trouble.

'Good afternoon,' the man greets them cheerfully as he approaches. 'You boys wouldn't happen to know any hymns now would you?' He looks harmless enough in his well-tailored suit with smile lines bracketing his mouth and an air of good cheer swirling around him.

'Sure,' Christian nods, hoping that doing a request will get them at least a buck or two. He starts in on a version of Amazing Grace, Steve easily following along. They play through that and Abide With Me, the man nodding in time and quietly singing along.

'That's good, real good,' the man smiles. 'I'm Alan Ackles, Pastor of the Presbyterian Church here in town. Our organist broke her arm and we've been looking for someone to provide music for services. You boys would be just the thing to show up those we-do-music-in-church-the-best Baptists.'

The boys share an amused look at the last statement, church people are strange people. Christian looks a question at Steve and the blonde nods back. 'We could do that sir,' Christian answers for the duo.

'Good, good,' Pastor Ackles continues, 'I can give you boys $10 for your trouble and dinner after services.'

Steve and Christian both grin, $10 is good money for an hour or so of work and dinner on top of that isn't something to turn down. 'That would be fantastic,' Christian grins and Steve nods. 'I'm Christian Kane,' he introduces himself, shaking on the deal, 'and this here is Steve Carlson.' Steve extends his hand as well.

'Excellent,' the Pastor beams, 'you boys will be perfect. You do have something suitable to wear I expect.'

Afraid that it's a deal breaker, Christian sighs, 'Just jeans and t-shirts, sir.'

The Pastor waves off their concern, 'Not to worry, not to worry, I'm sure my boy Jensen will have something that'll fit. We should be able to find something without a problem.'

'Where are you boys staying? I can pick you up before services in the morning to get you something to wear.'

The boys share another look, this one full of trepidation, they both know that no matter the surface, some people aren't to be trusted. Christian answers carefully, 'Well sir, we just got into town and haven't had a chance to hunt down a place to stay.'

'Well then, there's no reason you can't camp out in my back yard!' Pastor Ackles chuckles. 'The more the merrier I say! The Misses won't mind, she's always accusing me of bringing home strays anyway. The church is five blocks south there on the left,' he points down the street and the boys can see the steeple peeking above the trees, 'and the house is just beside it. You can't miss it.'

'That's very kind of you sir, are you sure it won't be any trouble?' Christian can sense Steve's unease at staying with another church man, but it sounds safer than camping out in the city park or under an overpass.

'No trouble at all son, my boys Josh, and Jensen are forever camping out in the yard with friends.' Pastor Ackles laughs to himself, 'I swear some mornings it looks like the camp of the Potomac out there. Why don't you boys follow me down that way and we can get you set up.'

Stowing their instruments and collecting their gear, the two set off following behind the preacher man.

‘It’s just for tonight Steve,' Christian soothes his friend, 'we’ll get our money tomorrow and then be on our way’

‘Yeah, okay, just tonight though’ Steve agrees quietly.

It takes no time at all to walk the five blocks to the church and true to the Pastor's word there's a tidy house next door with a boy around their age lounging on the front porch.

'This is my boy Jensen,' the Pastor introduces them to the blonde haired, green eyed boy, 'Jensen these boys need some clothes for church in the morning, they're going to be helping out with the music since Maggie's arm is in a cast.'

'Cool,' Jensen stands from his sprawl on the porch swing. 'We oughta have something that'll fit between Josh and me. C'mon up, let's see what we've got.' he waves the two to follow him into the house.

'They're going to be camping out in the backyard tonight too,' the Pastor calls after them as he turns to leave, 'so show them where they can stow their belongings,' Jensen waves his hand in acknowledgment.

As they ascend the stairs just inside the front door they're greeted by a whirlwind of a little girl coming down them. 'Mack!' Jensen barks, 'watch where you're going! Gonna knock a body down the stairs if you're not careful.'

'You can't tell me what to do!' The girl, Mack, snipes back, stopped on the step below the boys, arms crossed, scowl creasing her forehead. 'Just cos you got friends over don't mean you can lord over me! Momma said so!' the 'so there' evident in her voice.

'They're not my friends Mack, they're here on Daddy's say so,' Jensen chides the girl who could only be his little sister.

'Oh!' Her demeanor instantly morphs from bratty little sister to perfect preacher's daughter. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Mackenzie Ackles,' she offers her hand to Steve as he's nearest her.

Unsure and a little hesitant, Steve shakes hands with the now solemn little girl. 'It's a pleasure to meet you as well,' he softly replies.

'What's wrong with your face?' she asks.

'Mackenzie Renee!' Jensen shouts as Steve pulls back, ducking behind his hair, Christian stepping in front of him as though to shield him from the girl.

'What?' she pouts, all decorum gone as she turns on her brother, 'there's weird lines on his face. How'd they get there?'

Familiar with dealing with bratty little sisters Christian steps in, voice firm and serious, 'He got hurt and he don't wanna talk about it.'

'You're not very nice,' Mackenzie pronounces as she turns and flounces down the stairs.

'And that is my little sister Mackenzie,' Jensen sighs. 'She's usually got better manners than that,' he shrugs, 'sorry.'

With a wry twist Christian asks, 'You got any other family we gotta worry about?'

'My older brother Josh and one of his college buddies are staying here for the summer, but you won't see them outside a meal I'm sure.' He grimaces, face a sour twist, 'They spend most of their time at the pool playing lifeguard watching the girls in bikinis.' There's a faint hint of bitterness in the tone Jensen uses.

Brightening he continues, 'C'mon, let's see what I can find for clothes, then I'll show you where you can set up camp in the back.'

Wondering what they've gotten into in agreeing to provide musical accompaniment for Pastor Ackles, the two follow Jensen upstairs.

&&&&

'You boys were fantastic,' Pastor Ackles enthuses after the mornings services, patting them on back heartily. 'I know it's a lot to ask, but do you think you could stay and play till our organist is back?'

Christian shoots Steve a look and the blonde only shrugs, 'I don't know sir, we'll have to talk it over.'

'There's no need to decide right this minute. Mother will be having dinner on the table soon and it's best not to keep her waiting.' He continues as he herds them toward Jensen and the car. 'You boys think it over and let me know. It'd be a sin not to have music at services and you boys are a damn sight better than anything those Baptists could come up with.'

After a large Sunday dinner with the Ackles family Christian and Steve escape to the back yard to discuss whether or not they should stay.

'We keep getting mixed up with churches,' Steve grouses.

'It is kinda odd ain't it, but what can you do,' Christian shrugs philosophically. 'Whadda ya think?'

'I don't know,' Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. 'The Ackles and the rest don't seem so bad and we are kinda broke. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to stay for a while.'

'That's what I was thinking exactly,' Christian smiles. 'Maybe we can find some kind of temporary work to fill in the week. Make some money for traveling.'

'That would be good,' Steve nods in agreement. 'It'd be nice to have some money tucked away for those times we don't make much playing.'

Voicing his main concern Steve asks, 'What about a place to stay? I don't think I wanna live with a preacher again. Sides, this is a pretty full house already.'

'Hmm, you gotta point,' Christian rubs the back of his neck in thought. 'I suppose if we word it right we could say yes and maybe find somewhere else to stay?'

'I guess,' Steve is a little skeptical, 'that's up to you. You're way better talking to people than I am. If we can stay some place beside here I'm all for it.'

'Alrighty then, we'll stay. It shouldn't be for long, how long do casts stay on a body anyway?' Christian muses.

They head back inside to find Pastor Ackles waiting for them in the kitchen. 'So boys, do you think you could stay and help us out?'

'We'd love to sir,' Christian tells the Pastor, 'but we don't have anywhere to stay and we couldn't in good conscious abuse your hospitality for so long,' he lets a tinge of regret color his voice to really sell the deal.

'I know it was presumptuous of me,' Pastor Ackles says, 'but I took the liberty of speaking with our organist and she agreed to let you boys room at her house if you'd decided to stay to help out.'

The boys share a look at that. Pastor Ackles seemed pretty sure they were going to say yes. It made Steve a little wary, Christian wasn't making like he had a bad feeling about it though, so he held his tongue.

They had met the organist before services that morning. Maggie Popple was a fiery, middle-aged woman who brooked no nonsense. She'd taken an immediate liking to Steve, much to his discomfort and Christian's amusement.

'That's mighty nice of you sir, but are you sure it'd be appropriate for the two of us to being staying there?' Christian is well aware of the way small town rumors and bigotry can run.

'Half the town is in and out of Maggie's every day for music lessons - she teaches piano and violin - or to gossip, I don't believe anyone has any fear that you boys will be any trouble.' Pastor Ackles assures them. 'Why don't we head over there and you boys can get settled in.'

It's a quick drive to Mrs. Popple's house, a well kept two-story in a modest neighborhood. Mrs. Popple herself is waiting on her porch as they pull up in the drive.

'Well, well, it's good to see you boys decided to stay and help out. The Lord does look kindly on those who perform charity.' Mrs. Popple greets them.

'Then the Lord must certainly look most kindly on you Maggie,' Pastor Ackles greets the widow with a peck on the cheek. 'It's very good of you to let the boys stay here till you're out of the cast.'

'We can't pay for room and board, ma'am,' Christian pipes up in his role of spokesman for the two of them, letting Steve hide behind his shoulder, ducked even further behind his hair if it were possible, 'but we can help with chores and such.'

'That's a fine idea dear.' She says. 'Steve here can help me with music lessons. With this broken arm I'm a bit hindered. You do know how to play piano as well as violin don't you Steve?' She interrupts herself. At Steve's nod she continues, 'It works out for both of us then. You get your room and board till I'm healed up and I don't lose any students to Ruth Peters. She's the organist for the Baptist church,' Mrs Popple adds in an aside.

The boys share another incredulous look at her comment, if they didn't' think the church was full of crazy people before, they certainly do now.

Maggie shows them to a small, but comfortable second floor room with the luxury of a bed each. They stow their gear and spend the rest of the afternoon making a start on the yard work that'll make up part of their room and board agreement.

&&&&

Monday afternoon while Steve is helping Mrs. Popple with the first lessons of the week, Christian takes the opportunity to get a better look around town. If they're gonna be here awhile he figures he needs to be doing something to pull his own weight. Light yard work doesn't take much time and if Steve is going to be spending most of his days giving music lessons, the least he can do is find something that'll pay so he can keep his part of the deal with Steve.

An older VW van with a 'for sale' sign in the window catches his eye. It's parked in the lot of the local garage and the sign says best offer. It looks like it's been sitting there for some time, the garish paint job of lime green and red swirls faded and dusty. They're going to be in town for a while and if he can manage to get enough money to make an offer on the van that would be more than contributing his share he thinks.

Entering the garage he looks around for someone to ask about the van. It's a clean shop, small but well organized. 'Hello,' he calls out.

A skinny, older man, with snow white hair emerges from under the hood of a newer model sedan wiping his hands on a rag he tucks into his back pocket, 'Can I do something for ya?'

'Yes, sir,' Christian starts, 'I was wondering who I'd need to speak with about the van for sale out front.'

'You interested in that damn van?' the man squints at him. 'Bunch a hippies left it here after they broke down bout a year back. It'll run with some work.'

'What do you want for it?' Christian asks, hoping he can work out some kind of deal with the man.

Bernie Bentels runs a shrewd eye over the boy in front of him. He's heard the gossip about Maggie Popple taking in the strays Pastor Ackles picked up to play Sunday sermons over at the Presbyterian Church and figures this is one of them. The brunette is a clean, earnest looking young man, hair a bit too long, but it goes with the times he figures.

He wants the damn eyesore of a van gone and anything he can do to tweak those damned busy-body Baptist Woman's Works Group is good by him. They're always after him, ever since his wife passed - god rest her soul - to attend church more, not work in the shop on Sunday, be an upstanding member of the church. If he can send them into a tizzy by helping out Pastor Ackles strays he's all for it.

'You're one of them boys Pastor Ackles got to play at Sunday services ain't ya?' Bernie asks, knowing full well who the kid is.

'Yes sir,' Christian replies respectfully, a little grin slipping out though at how fast gossip travels in a small town.

'Yer staying on till Maggie Popple's out of the cast then?'

'Yes sir,' Christian repeats.

'Tell ya what then, if yer gonna be around for a while I could use some help around the garage, you know anything about cars?'

'Yes sir.'

'Damn boy, you know how to say anything besides yes sir?' Bernie can't help but grin at the young man.

Christian laughs, 'Yes sir.'

'Suppose I asked for that,' Bernie chuckles along with Christian. 'Alright then, you work for me 8 hours a day 5 days a week and I'll pay you parts and let you use the lifts and tools to fix the van up. If you work it off before Maggie's outta the cast then I'll pay ya cash.'

Christian is stunned speechless at the generosity of the man.

'Well boy?' Bernie prompts. 'It a deal?'

'Yes sir,' a wide grin splits his face. Holding out his hand to shake, he introduces himself, 'Christian Kane.'

'Well then, Christian Kane, I'm Bernie Bentels and, if you ain't got anywhere else to be, why don't you get started right now.'

&&&&

Christian does oil changes and belt replacements and keeps the garage swept out while Steve gives violin and piano lessons under the sharp eye of Mrs. Popple. They work during the week, and come Friday night Jensen invites them out with him.

Jensen is an experience all on his own. He's got the voice and face of an angel - all 'yes sir' and 'no ma'am' to his elders like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth - behind his daddy's back though, he's the devil's own spawn.

He takes Christian and Steve to the seediest pool hall they've ever seen on the outskirts of town and Jensen must be a regular because everyone in the place knows his name.

'What's your daddy say 'bout what you get up too?' Christian asks with a grin.

'He's my step-daddy and he don't know and I don't care,' Jensen answers taking a long swallow of beer.

Jensen is very popular with the girls in the pool hall, stealing kisses and gropes in dark corners. It seems like the boy is trying out every vice in the good book just to spite his step-daddy.

The boys have been in town two weeks and are out with Jensen on a Friday night again when Christian notices something odd in the other boys behavior. Every so often a man approaches him, usually a rough-neck or other big, tough looking guy, and they disappear out the alley door. In 'bout 15-20 minutes the guy comes back in looking smug and shortly after that Jensen reappears. Christian thinks Jensen must be dealing and after the fourth guy of the night approaches Jensen, he decides to follow.

What he sees shocks him into immobility; Jensen is on his knees with the dudes dick down his throat and the bigger man is using him rather roughly, talking filth all the while. It only takes a few more ragged thrusts and the guy finishes up, does up his pants, hands what looks like money over to Jensen, who's still on his knees, and takes off back into the bar.

'You might as well come out of the shadows there Christian.' Jensen's voice is rough, but amused.

'Holy fuck! You're a prostitute!' Christian can't believe what he just watched his new friend do.

Getting to his feet, Jensen hits him. 'I am not a fucking hooker.'

'Man, that's what it looks like.' Christian rubs at his shoulder, Jensen hit hard. 'You just blew that guy for money. That's what a hooker does.'

'I'm not standing out on some street corner turning tricks,' disgust runs thick in his voice. 'I might kiss girls and give 'em a little grope, but I am a homosexual,' he drawls the word out all long vowels and hissing esses. 'You got a problem with that?' he gets right up in Christian's face, like he's looking for a fight. Christian steps back, hands out in a gesture of surrender.

'Besides,' Jensen continues, nasty grin twisting his features, 'it's got the added bonus of being something my step-daddy would kill himself over.'

'Man,' Christian drawls, 'you are one fucked up puppy.'

Jensen only shrugs at Christian's words, 'What the hell else am I supposed to do till I'm old enough to get the hell out of this town? C'mon, I want a beer.' He turns and heads back into the pool hall.

Christian continues to stand where Jensen left him, lost in thought. He'd left home to see the country and because he couldn't stand to be stuck in that little hick town any longer. He'd felt like it was killing him; trapping him in a place where he couldn't play because it wasn't considered a real job and where he couldn't love who he wanted because boys don't like boys in small town Oklahoma.

He was lucky his grandmother's understood him enough to let him go. If it wasn't for them he'd be trapped just like Jensen and maybe destroying his life one bad decision at a time, just like the other boy was.

'Christian!' one of the regulars from the pool hall leans out the back door to yell at him. 'We want some music and Steve won't play without you!'

'Yeah! I'm comin!' he hollers back. With a little prayer of gratitude that this was his life, he heads back in to make the music he loves with the boy who is becoming the most important person in his life.

&&&&

'My grandmothers would be laughing themselves silly if they could see me now,' Christian grumbles as he scrubs grease out from under his nails in the little hall bath upstairs at Mrs Popple's. She won't let him sit at the dinner table till his hands and face are clean - she's worse than both his grandmothers combined when it comes to cleanliness.

'Why's that?' Is the quiet question from where Steve's leaning in the hall waiting for his friend so they can go down to dinner.

'This,' Chris waves his arms to encompass the hall and house and presumably the town. 'This is what I left home to avoid! Going to work and coming home and eating dinner and going to church on Sunday! I want adventure! I want to see the country! Play my guitar at smokey bars and watch the sunrise over the desert! I wanna stop in the middle of the day just because I can and stay up all night if I wanna.'

Steve chuckles softly at his friends rant. For all the words coming out of his mouth about rebellion and making his own way, the brunette is careful to wash all the grease off his hands and face, wiping up all his splashes from around the sink and carefully rehanging his towel.

'What are you laughing at me for?' Christian asks sulkily. 'You're stuck here just as much as me.'

Steve shrugs, 'It's not so bad really. A roof over my head and the food's pretty good, plus the people are really nice.'

Christian shoots Steve a surprised look; he'd thought the blonde had been happy on the road and that he liked the wandering with no ties, but that sounded like he preferred it here. As much as he would rather Steve stay on the road with him, if staying in Richardson makes him happy, Christian will do everything he can to make it happen.

This was as close to the American Dream as either of them were ever liable to get and it wouldn't take much effort for Steve to make a permanent place for himself here. Not really sure he wants the answer he screws up his courage, asking 'You really like it here don't you?'

The question throws him, Steve hasn't thought about liking it or not here. He's just been following Christian's lead for months now. 'What do you mean?' he asks to give himself a little thinking room.

Leaning on the wall across the hall from the blonde, Christian makes himself meet Steve's eyes. 'Do you wanna stay here?' he asks. 'I know you haven't had a home in a long time and this is a nice place. Mrs Popple would sure let you stay here and keep helping with lessons. You'd have it made.'

Frown drawing down his brow, Steve tries to figure out what Christian means. Did he not want him around anymore? He thought the other boy really liked him. They've been holding hands and getting in one anothers space and even exchanged a few careful kisses since his birthday. But now it sounds like Christian doesn't want him around, that he's stopped liking him.

'I thought you liked me?' he asks, hating how vulnerable it comes out. If Christian really is trying to get rid of him he doesn't want the other boy to know how much it hurts.

'I do!' Christian blurts out. The look on Steve's face tugs at his heart. The last thing he wants is for the younger boy to think he doesn't like him anymore. 'I like you lots.' He's so surprised by Steve's question that he doesn't even blush at the admission.

'Then why are you trying to get rid of me?' Steve demands.

'What?' Christian asks bewildered. 'I'm not trying to get rid of you. I thought you'd want to stay here.'

'Why?' now Steve is confused.

'Well, it's a pretty good deal, a place to live and a job and friends and stuff.' Christian rubs at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, 'Why would you wanna live on the road if you can have a home.'

'You live on the road and you have a home,' Steve points out.

'That's different,' Christian protests. 'I can go back there anytime, I just don't wanna. You don't have anywhere and this could be your place.' He makes an awkward gesture trying to encompass the idea of having the whole town and a place to call home.

'I don't need a place.' Steve is getting pissed. 'I had a place, but momma and poppy are gone. I like traveling and I like traveling with you and if you don't want me around anymore you should come out and say it.' Steve stomps down the stairs and Christian hears the back door slam.

Christian is confused, he's not sure how it went from 'Do you wanna stay in Richardson?' to 'You don't like me.'

A bewildered Christian wanders into the kitchen in Steve's wake to see a bemused Mrs. Popple looking at the back door. 'Lord, I didn't thing that boy had a setting besides calm,' she murmurs to herself.

Turning to Christian she stops him from following the blonde out the door. 'Let him cool down now, nothing is going to happen to him out in the backyard. Sit yourself down and tell me what you boys were fighting about.'

Flopping down at the kitchen table Christian looks down at his hands, absently picking at a frayed thread in his jeans, 'I just told him I thought he ought to stay here.'

'Now why would you tell him that?' she asks.

'He's happy here,' is Christian's sad voiced answer.

'I don't think it's the place that's making him happy, honey,' she pats him on the shoulder consolingly, placing a plate on the table in front of him.

'What do you mean?' Christian mumbles.

'You really like him don't you?' Mrs. Popple asks, sitting across from him at the table.

'Yeah,' Christian is a little wary, he doesn't think she means anything but friends, he's very careful no one ever catches them doing anything they could get in trouble for.

'I've seen how you look at him.' At Christian's startled look she reassures him, patting his hand, 'Don't worry honey, I don't care how you boys look at each other. You do know he looks at you the same way don't you?' Christian's face shows confusion at that.

'What I'm trying to say,' she continues, 'is that I don't think it's being in Richardson that's making him happy, I think it's being in Richardson with you that's making him happy. Now eat your dinner. I'll put up a plate for Stevie to eat when he comes back in.'

A frown marring his face, his thoughts circling around the absent blonde, Christian does as he's told and eats his dinner. He spends the evening thinking about his relationship with Steve. He knew he was starting to have serious feelings about the blonde, but hadn't considered Steve could be reciprocating them.

So much of who he is is tied up in his family and home even though he's left them behind, he can't imagine Steve not wanting the chance to have that sort of belonging for himself. It had never occurred to him that Steve might find that with him.

&&&&

The next morning Christian takes off for the garage early leaving Steve alone to have breakfast with Mrs Popple.

'Sorry about last night,' is the soft, sincere apology from Steve.

'It's alright honey,' she waves away his concern, plunking a plate in front of him. 'Friends fight sometimes, it doesn't mean anything.'

Steve nods, picking morosely at his breakfast.

Maggie Popple has seen a lot of kids in a lot of different emotional states in her time giving music lessons and she can tell Steve is carrying around a lot of grief and confusion.

Christian hasn't been shy about sharing his life; she knows his grandmothers raised him and his sister while their mother was off gallivanting around the oil fields with their daddy. She's even let him use her phone for a brief call home. He's a good boy, she can tell.

Steve, she doesn't' have as much to go on. She's figured out he's an orphan and an only child from the careful way he talks about his parents when they do come up. She doesn't think he was adopted or fostered either. And that's a sad thing she thinks, to have grown up without a mother's care.

It's a big thing to get over, and aside from the grief that hangs over him like a pall, Steve seems to be dealing well with the lack of parents. She can make a pretty good guess at the origin of the confusion.

'I wanted to sing and dance on Broadway,' Mrs. Popple says out of the blue.

Steve looks up curiously from under the curtain of his hair, but doesn't say anything.

'I grew up here in Richardson and couldn't wait to get out,' she continues. Standing she takes a photo off the wall in the hall. 'Here,' she says, handing it over to Steve, 'this is my Gene.'

It's a photo of a youngish man, thin and serious, standing under a tree in a suit. 'That was taken not long before he passed.'

'Was he your husband?' Steve asks carefully, all too aware of the kind of pain he could be bringing up.

Taking back the photo, Mrs. Popple smiles at it softly, 'He was the love of my life,' she says.

She hangs the photo back on the wall with a gentle touch. 'We were high school sweethearts and planned on running away to New York together. I don't think Gene ever did figure out what he was going to do in New York, but he knew I was set on getting to Broadway and he was going to be right there with me.'

'When he broke his leg right after graduation all we thought it was going to do was slow down our leaving, but when they found the tumor, we knew there was no way he'd be traveling anywhere.'

'He wanted me to pursue my dream anyway, but there was no way I was leaving him. I loved him. So, I stayed in Richardson and Gene worked at his daddy's store and we made a life here. After Gene passed I couldn't bring myself to leave the only place we'd ever been together, so here I am all these years later, giving music lessons to brats who couldn't care less,' she laughs to herself.

'I'm sorry,' Steve says softly. He elaborates quickly at Mrs. Popple's look, 'I'm sorry you lost him, it sounds like you really loved him.'

'Oh, I did.' Mrs. Popple says with a soft look in her eye. 'That's why it was easy to stay in Richardson even though all I'd ever wanted was to get out. It's what we do for those we care about, put their lives and happiness before our own.'

Standing briskly Mrs. Popple gathers up her coffee cup and plate, 'Now finish up your breakfast, Margie Bennett will be here at 10 for her piano lesson.'

&&&&

Steve spends the time between lessons thinking about how Maggie Popple gave up her dreams of going to New York when it turned out the man she loved wouldn't be able to go with her. He thinks about what it means when making the people you care about happy becomes more important than your own happiness.

He wonders if that's what Christian is trying to do for him. Having a place to call home  
makes Christian happy, so he thinks having the same will make Steve happy. Maybe Christian isn't trying to get rid of him, but is trying to give him what he thinks will make him happy. He doesn't think Christian can make him happy again, but he's pretty sure the other boy can at least make him less sad.

Steve's not sure what would make him happy, he hasn't felt like he'd be happy since his momma and poppy died. He has enjoyed traveling with Christian though and he'd thought Christian had liked traveling with him. Not to mention how well his violin went with Christian's guitar. The music they made together was so much better than anything they'd done alone up till now. Plus they got along really well, and there was the growing physical attraction.

That night, when Christian sneaks in well after Steve and Mrs. Popple have eaten supper, Steve is waiting for him in the darkened kitchen.

'I don't wanna stay in Richardson,' Steve's voice outta the dark causes Christian to jump. 'It is a nice place and would probably make a good home, but I'm not like you, it's not what I'm looking for.'

Feeling like he's hearing something really important Christian doesn't move. 'Do ya know what yer looking for?' he asks.

'No,' Steve admits, 'but I do know . . .' he trails off. Taking a deep, fortifying breath he continues, 'I'd like to keep traveling with you.'

Blowing out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Christian grins, 'Yeah? I'd like that too.'

'Good.' Christian can hear the nerves in Steve's voice now. 'Mrs. Popple left you a plate in the oven.' With a 'good-night' thrown over his shoulder, Steve flees the kitchen.

A smile on his face, his thoughts once again circling around the blonde, Christian eats his dinner. Knowing that Steve wants to stay with him to travel and make music fills him with happiness. He can't help but make plans and dreams of what they may find down the road.

&&&&

They've been in Richardson for almost six weeks and the cast is finally coming off Maggie Popple's arm. Happily the doctor says she'll be able to play again without any problems. Christian finished fixing the van the week before and true to his word Mr. Bentels paid him in cash so he has money to spare. They're both feeling restless and more than ready to hit the road when Christian asks Steve to come home with him to meet his grandmothers.

'You want me to meet your grandmothers?' Steve questions disbelievingly. He's been listening to Christian talk about his family and how important they are for months now. He knew Christian liked him, but not enough to take him home to his grandmothers.

'Well, yeah,' Christian rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. It's not easy for him to articulate his feelings, but he needs Steve to understand how important he is to him. 'You're family man, of course you should come home with me.'

Home and family is something Steve has tried not to give much thought to over the years. Christian trying to get him to stay in Richardson notwithstanding, he hasn't had a real home since the accident. Being labeled as family by Christian brings a lump to his throat that he fights to swallow down before speaking. 'Family,' he repeats dumbly.

Christian leans in and presses a soft kiss to Steve's cheek, a blush painting the tips of his ears. 'Family,' he confirms. 'Come home with me.'

A wide, genuine smile, the brightest Christian has ever seen, breaks across Steve's face. 'Alright, I'll come with you.'


End file.
